Silent Hill: Lost Memories
by HeavensNight
Summary: Heather is happy with her new life as Cheryl Mason, but she’s mistaken if she thinks her pain and suffering is over. ON HIATUS
1. Prologue: The Past is the Past

**AN: **Just something I thought I'd try.. I hope I get some reviews for this one, as I feel pretty good about it. This will be my first serious Silent Hill story. This first part is just a prologue, a diary entry for Heather. In the next chapters it will be in a third person perspective. Please tell me what you think of this first chapter. Thank you 

_**21**__**st**__** June, 2006**_

Has anything really awful ever happened to you? And after it's happened, you just can't get it out of your mind? You think about it all the time, and the experience never leaves you? Something like that happened to me. Even today, it's hard to just wake up, go to work and get on with my life. I'm constantly checking over my shoulder, waiting for something to happen. Even though I know it's over now and ancient history, I can't shake this feeling. The worst of it is, that I know it'll stay with me for the rest of my life. And there's not much I can do about it.

It's not as if it causes any real upsets in my day to day life. It doesn't really cause any upsets period. It's not like it makes me afraid to leave my apartment, or say go out late at night with a few friends. But every now and then, especially when I'm alone, I feel like someone is watching me. I can't really explain it. But the feeling I get when this happens is a mixture of fear and irritation; fear because of all that's happened to me in the past, and irritation because it just won't go away.

Nevertheless, I'm not going to let it ruin my life and change who I am. I don't think I've changed that much, though some of my friends have told me I've been a lot more reserved since it happened. I guess you don't know. Okay, let me ask you this. Ever heard of a town called Silent Hill?

You've probably heard about it on the news. You know those mysterious vanishings you often hear about on the radio? What they neglect to tell you is that the vanishings took place near or in that town. I've heard people say that it's supposed to be haunted, though they've never actually been there. I can confirm that, though.

How long has it been now? Two, three years? It feels like only yesterday for me. Well, my little experience in Silent Hill started out with a casual trip to the mall one Sunday. I can't remember the exact date. I remember hugging my Dad and kissing him goodbye on the cheek, not realising that this would be the very last time I'd see him alive. My whole world fell apart that day, and I can still remember it all, every last detail, right from the moment it began to the moment it ended. Strangely enough, I don't regret any of it. In a way it changed me, made me a stronger person. However, there are a couple of things I do regret. Not killing her on the spot when I had the chance, and not getting back in time to save him.

I don't really want to talk about him. But I just know that I have to, otherwise I'll keep it bottled up inside me. My father.. oh, God.. why did it have to happen?

I lost him that day. _She _murdered him. Who is she, you might ask? I definitely don't want to talk about _her. _Let's just say she was a crazy old hag with a lot of crazy ideas, and she deserved what happened to her.

Not a day goes by that I don't think about him. He was everything to me, and she took him from me before I even had a chance to prevent his death. It still angers me to think that I could have put a stop to it, but there's nothing I can do about it now. I feel nostalgic just looking at pictures of him, or us together, or reading some of his novels. I actually found an unfinished one in his drawer a few weeks after he died. The main character was a girl of seventeen. She was beautiful, courageous, and she had a loving heart. As I flipped through, I knew that he had based this character off of me. He was just so talented, and it's a shame that it was never published, because it really was a beautiful story. Maybe one day I'll attempt to finish it myself, though I don't half the talent he did. I guess I just miss him terribly. Anyone who has ever lost a parent or relative probably understands what I'm going through, I guess.

Well, if I stay on the subject of my father I think I'll start tearing up, so I'll move on now. Back to the subject of Silent Hill, I've always considered going back. I often do in my dreams, or nightmares, but most of the time it's just dark and desolate, devoid of any life whatsoever. I never feel a thing when I dream about that place, nor do I feel anything when the time comes for me to wake up. That part of my life is over now, I've simply let go, and now I'm just trying to live out my life in peace, without the worry of any crazy cult coming after me.

I just had to write it down, to get it all out of me. Now I can just get on with my day, and not think about it anymore. Anyway, this guy has just walked in, and I suspect he has a crush on me, since he's always coming in here and checking me out. We'll have to see what becomes of that.

Cheryl


	2. Chapter One: Back to Reality

"Cheryl? Hey, _Cheryl!"_

Cheryl's head snapped up, only to find her boss, Marianne Johnson, glancing sternly down at her. "Oh, um. Sorry, I was just.. What is it?"

"You've been sitting there in a daze for the last half hour," Marianne remarked sourly, continuing to fix on Cheryl with a look of disdain, "Your shift ended five minutes ago. Now come on, get back to work."

Cheryl nodded and rose from the small table she'd been sitting at, and made her way back over to the bar, where she could see a whole line of customers, each one looking extremely impatient. "Finally," one of them muttered, bringing out a five dollar bill, "just gimme' a beer, sweetness. An' in the future, try not ta' be so slow, I've had one hell of a day an' I need a drink."

Cheryl gave him a cynical smile and snatched the dollar bill from him, throwing it into the cash register. She then proceeded to pour him a beer, and handed it over to him when she was done.

"Thanks, sweetness," the man mumbled, reaching out eagerly to take the full glass of beer from her. Cheryl watched with a raised eyebrow as he took a long drink.

"I haven't seen you around here before," Cheryl remarked as she began to serve the others, but all the time she kept her eyes on him. The others had been in here at least once, and she never forgot a face. But this guy, he was new. There was no doubt about it.

The man merely grunted in response and carried on drinking. Cheryl continued to glance at him out of the corner of her eye, and once she was done serving the other people who had been waiting at the bar, she fixed on him.

She just liked to get to know the customers. She didn't quite know why. It was just a habit she had picked up shortly after she'd started working here. How long had she been working here? Well, it had been around six months since she'd started. It wasn't exactly the job she had opted for, but the pay was decent and it was a good way to meet people, so Cheryl wasn't complaining. If it wasn't for her boss, who was a pain in the rear end, it would be the perfect place for her to be working at. It was just a small place downtown called Sal's Bar. Cheryl worked four hours a day, five days a week. She didn't really care about this, though. On her days off, she didn't usually have a lot to do, anyway.

Since moving back to Portland, Cheryl had lost contact with most to all of her old friends. She had even stopped contacting Douglas eventually, which had saddened her slightly, but she had wanted to try to start afresh, and she knew that keeping in touch with him would just bring back the memories of what had happened. Nevertheless, she sent him a birthday card every year without fail on his birthday, and usually a Christmas card during the holiday's aswell. Douglas must have realised that she no longer wanted them to stay in touch, so the weekly phone calls had stopped, and she hadn't heard from him since. The last time they'd talked had been around four months ago. Though she knew it was for the best, Cheryl still missed Douglas, and hoped he was doing okay.

As for making friends in Portland, Cheryl hadn't had much success. She had a small group of friends, and that was fine, but everyone else seemed to regard her as strange, reserved, and Libby had even quietly informed her on a night out several weeks ago that a friend of hers had called Cheryl "unstable". This was hardly a surprise to Cheryl, who knew she must sometimes appear that way. She was a thoughtful person, or a daydreamer to put it another way. She would constantly find herself in a daze, thinking about various things. Her friends would often tease her about it, but Cheryl didn't really mind. As far as things went, she was feeling rather content with her life thus far.

Brushing a strand of dark hair behind her ear, Cheryl stepped aside as the bartender, Joey, returned from a visit to his mother, who was suffering from breast cancer. "Sorry I'm late," he grumbled, shivering as he closed the door behind him. He then shook the snow out of his hair and sighed. "Sorry you had to cover for me, Cheryl. I promise it won't happen again."

"You know I don't mind," Cheryl said softly with concern, feeling a rush of sympathy for Joey as he crossed the dark room and walked behind the bar. "So.. how is she?"

Joey sighed again. "She goes into surgery tomorrow."

"Well, that's good," Cheryl said with a sad smile, "Joey, she's going to be okay. The doctors have said she's going to be okay."

"Yeah.." Joey said, voice trailing off. Then he nodded towards the man who had just walked through the door. "Jefferson at three o'clock. You'd better go see to him."

Cheryl rolled her eyes. "All right.." she sighed, and after whipping out a small notebook, she walked out from behind the bar and over to where Mr Jefferson sat. She was always reluctant to serve him, and there was a good reason for that. Mr Jefferson would do nothing but moan about, well, anything he could think of. It was work, his wife, or a combination of the two. Sometimes he'd even start to ask Cheryl tedious questions, like why she was working at a dump like this at her age. As Cheryl approached his table, Jefferson looked up, adjusting his glasses.

"Oh, it's you," he said grumpily, "I thought you said you would leave this place and try to find yourself a better job."

Cheryl sighed impatiently, "What d'you want to drink, Mr Jefferson?"

"Yeah, too cocky to listen to me, eh," Jefferson sighed and glanced downward, "Just give me a tequila and tonic, and hurry up won't you."

"Whatever," Cheryl muttered under her breath, and backtracked to the bar. "He wants a tequila and tonic," she informed Joey. Moments later she returned to Jefferson's table, carrying his drink. "Here you go, sir," she said politely, setting it down on the table.

Jefferson sniffed, "Yeah, whatever," he mumbled, his eyes locking onto the glass, "It's always the same, ain't it, Cheryl. She never listens to me. Only wants to listen to that no-good brother of hers."

"I take it we're talking about your wife?" Cheryl inquired listlessly, folding her arms tightly across her chest.

"Who else," Jefferson grumbled, looking around the room, "Say, why's it so dull in here this afternoon? You guys are usually quite busy."

"Yeah, it'll probably start to get busier soon," Cheryl agreed, glancing absently at the clock on the wall, which read five o'clock. Things usually started to pick up at half past, and by seven o'clock the place was usually full. Luckily, Cheryl got off work at half seven today, and it was a good thing too, as she and Scott had decided to go out for dinner instead of ordering takeout yet again.

Cheryl had met Scott Taylor around eight months ago, when one of Cheryl's close friends Lana Thomas had introduced them at a party. They'd hit it off right away, and now eight months later, they were engaged to be married. Cheryl had been thrilled when he'd proposed, with a ring the largest engagement ring she'd ever seen no less. They hadn't chosen a date for the wedding yet, Cheryl had told Scott that she just wanted to take things slow and not dive into marriage right away.

At twenty-one years old, Cheryl looked like any other girl her age. She'd changed an awful lot appearance wise since her transformation from Heather Mason to Cheryl Mason, however. She now sported long, flowing dark hair, after deciding to revert back to her roots. At first it had been strange, seeing herself as a brunette, but then she had decided she actually liked it. She would often remember how she used to look, and it made her laugh.

"What are you smilin' about?"

Cheryl came out of her reverie and glanced sharply at Jefferson, who was eyeing her with suspicion. "Uh, nothing. Enjoy your drink, Mr Jefferson."

She immediately left his table without another word, deciding that she didn't really want the grumpy old man dampening her spirits. Scott was meeting her in a couple of hours, and she couldn't wait, though they'd gone out like this before. She was just excited to see him, as always.

She approached the bar just as a tall, eerily thin woman walked through the door. "You okay?" Joey asked her, as he finished serving an elderly man, "You seem a little out of it today."

Cheryl smiled wryly at him. "That's just typical Cheryl Mason behaviour, and you know it." She sat down at the bar and bent her head. "Anyway, you shouldn't be asking how _I _am, how are you? You know, I can cover for you for a couple of hours if you want to go home and get some sleep."

Joey shook his head, "I've already missed enough work as it is. Anyway, I doubt Marianne would want me slackin' off again, could cost me my job."

"But you haven't been slacking off," Cheryl insisted, thinking bitterly of Marianne, their highly strung boss, who always disapproved of anyone who stayed off work, even if it was for personal reasons, "Anyway, if she asks, I'll explain. She can't very well fire you for it, anyway."

But Joey remained adamant, "Nah, it's okay. Thanks though, Cheryl, you've been a great friend to me through this whole ordeal," his eyes glazed over with tears, "I just hope nothing goes wrong tomorrow. I hope this'll be the end of it."

"She'll be fine," Cheryl said soothingly, reaching across the bar and giving his hand a quick squeeze, "I'll have a word with Marianne, tell her to go easy on you."

"Well.." Joey sighed, "Yeah, at least it would get her off my back anyway. Thanks a lot, Cheryl, you're a great girl."

"I do try," Cheryl said with a smile, and they both laughed. Then, Joey had to get back to work and Cheryl had to get back to serving drinks, because the place was beginning to get more crowded. Cheryl only just noticed that the guy she had served earlier was still sitting there, but now he seemed to be watching her, as opposed to before when he couldn't have cared less about her. Cheryl wondered who he was, and where he had come from. She hadn't seen him around before, that was for sure. Still, there was something about him that unnerved her. Maybe it was the way he was dressed, in a large buttoned up trench coat. She wondered if he was a detective or something, but if so why would he want to talk to her anyway? It wasn't as if anyone besides Douglas knew of her experience in Silent Hill. Still, she couldn't help but wonder as she stared at him from across the room.

Finally, she couldn't take it anymore and she disappeared into the other room with Joey, who seemed puzzled as to why she was being so paranoid. "Joey, have you seen that guy in here before?" she asked in a low voice, describing the man at the bar to him. Joey took a peek, and shook his head.

"No, I've never seen him before," he said, sounding puzzled, "Why? Who is he?"

"I don't know," Cheryl muttered, "but there's something strange about him."

"If he's giving you trouble, I'll throw him out," Joey said with a serious look, but Cheryl shook her head.

"No, no, its okay," she insisted, "but just watch him, all right?"

Joey said that he would and they both returned to their posts. For a while the man stopped staring at her but he never moved from his place at the bar. Then, when he began to watch her again just under an hour later, Cheryl decided she could take it no longer and marched over to him.

"What is it?" she asked, "What do you want from me?"

The man glanced at her with no expression. "You're Heather, aren't you? Heather Mason."

Cheryl's eyes widened in shock. No.. how could he know her former name? "Who are you?" she demanded, "Some kind of detective? If you are, then you'd better ju—"

"Relax, relax," the man said hurriedly, obviously not wanting to make a scene, "It's not what you think, honestly."

Cheryl was still suspicious. "So, you're not a detective?"

The man gave her a wan smile. "No, nothing like that."

"Then what? And how do you know my name used to be Heather?" Cheryl asked, determined to get the truth out of him.

The man simply chuckled, "Ah, you're a feisty one I see. Douglas said you would be like this."

Cheryl froze at the mention of Douglas, and for a moment she couldn't speak. "How do you know Douglas?" she almost whispered, heart racing.

"I know him," the man said, "because he was my brother."

"_Was?" _Heather squeaked, and her mouth fell open.

"I'm sorry to tell you, but Douglas died a week ago," the man informed her quietly, "he told me I should come here to see you, and tell you myself."

"But.." Cheryl couldn't believe it, "How? I mean.. how?"

"It was liver failure," the man explained, "he's been ill for a while now, but he didn't want to tell you. Before he died, he told me to come here to see you."

Cheryl barely heard him. She couldn't take this in. Douglas.. why had this happened? They hadn't exactly been friends, but he had been the only one who had known what had really happened to her, and of the pain she had experienced. Now, he was dead. It was just such a shock.

"I'm sorry, Cheryl," the man said gently, laying a hand on her should as Cheryl sat down in the vacated seat next to him, "but I want you to know that he was very fond of you. He often said you were like the daughter he never had, and that he loved you. He really cared about you, Cheryl."

Douglas _loved _her? Cheryl was touched by this revelation. That the man she had barely known had cared for her so much made her even more heartbroken. "I.. I'm so sorry. I would've gone to the funeral, but.."

"It's okay, he told me not to come here until after the funeral," the man explained, "He told me he didn't want you seeing him.. like that."

Cheryl nodded and felt the tears forming in her eyes. "W-What's your name?" she asked, trying hard not to break down in front of him.

"It's Morris," he said, offering her a wan smile, "Sorry I was rude before.. I didn't realize it was you. Douglas described a girl with short, blonde hair. I guess you've changed a bit since he last saw you."

Cheryl tried to laugh, "Yeah," she said hoarsely, not looking up so he wouldn't see that she was crying. "Look, t-thanks for telling me about this. Douglas was.. I guess he meant quite a lot to me, though we haven't seen each other for quite a time."

"It's okay," Morris said, "Look; I can tell you're really upset. I'll get going now, and leave you alone."

"Okay," Cheryl said simply, "Thank you for telling me about this, Morris."

Morris gave her a sad smile and got to his feet. Then he turned and left the bar, leaving Cheryl sitting there alone. Joey approached her a few minutes later looking worried. "What's happened?" he asked, obviously being able to tell that she was upset, "Cheryl? What's going on?"

Cheryl sniffed and looked up at him. "Oh, it's.. just a f-friend of mine.. he d-died recently."

Joey looked taken aback by this, "Oh, wow, Cheryl.. I'm so sorry," he said, coming out from behind the bar to comfort her. "Do you need to leave? It's okay if you do."

Cheryl considered this. Yes, she did need to leave. If she stayed here any longer she feared she would start bawling, and she didn't want to start doing that until she was back home in her apartment. Cheryl wasn't the sort of person who liked to show that she was upset over something. Blinking back tears, she looked up at Joey and nodded vaguely.

"Yeah," she croaked, "is that okay? Joey, I don't want to leave you here like this.."

"It's fine," Joey stated firmly, "You just get yourself home, okay?"

Cheryl nodded and got slowly to her feet, though her knees felt like they were turning to jelly, and her ears were ringing. She briefly considered staying, but knew she had to go home for at least an hour to take this in properly.

After getting her things, Cheryl quickly left Sal's, and started back to her apartment. "Douglas.." she whispered sadly to herself, "Oh, man.."

The door was still locked when she got back to the apartment. She glanced at her watch and saw that it was coming up to half past six, which meant that Scott was due back at any moment. Cheryl almost wished he wasn't. She hadn't felt this way since the death of her father, and although this was obviously different, since she had not been as close to Douglas, it was still quite a blow. Douglas had been there for her that day, when nobody else had been, and he had been the one to comfort her after her father's death. It had been strange to hear from Morris that he had died. Part of Cheryl didn't really want to believe it was true. But alas, it was true. Douglas was gone, leaving her alone. He had been the only one who understood. Now she was alone.

She felt a pang of guilt for ending their weekly phone calls, but at the time Cheryl had been eager to spend more time with Scott, who had appeared to be suspicious of Douglas and had asked Cheryl many times who he was.

"Just an old friend," Cheryl had replied, and no more had been said about it. Scott knew better than to question her about it, but he also trusted her, and this made Cheryl love him even more.

Still, the fact remained that Scott knew nothing of her past life before moving to Portland. She'd never told him about it, had never really thought to, thinking what belonged in the past should stay in the past. If he knew, he would probably leave her, and Cheryl sure as hell didn't want that happening. She had managed to get her life back on track and didn't want what had already happened to her ruining the life she had fought so hard to have.

Taking out her key, Cheryl unlocked the door and stepped into the dark apartment. She threw her jacket and bag to the side and shut the door, not even bothering to turn the lights on. She walked into the living room and fell into the armchair. She wondered how long it would be before the full impact of Douglas' death hit her. She found that she couldn't cry now, she just felt shocked, and unable to do anything but sit there and think about him.

He'd told her that she reminded him of his son. Cheryl remembered his words like she'd only just heard them recently. "You remind me of my son," was what he had said, and then he'd went on to tell her that his son was dead. Cheryl had seen him in a new light then, not just as the guy who had helped her out a little that day, but sort of as a father figure. Though she could take care of herself, he had made her feel just a little bit safer. And now he was gone, laying six feet under somewhere.

A few minutes later, Cheryl heard a key turning in the lock, and then the sound of Scott's footsteps. She heard the door slam shut and listened intently as Scott stifled a yawn. Then, she heard his footsteps growing nearer, and he appeared in the living room. Upon seeing her, he gave a small gasp.

"Cheryl?" he started tentatively, "What are you doing here? I thought your shift didn't end 'til after seven."

"I.." Cheryl started lamely, "had to be alone for a while."

"Why?" Scott asked, moving towards her, "What's going on?"

Cheryl wasn't sure whether to tell him or not. If she did, she knew he'd as good as smother her, and keep asking whether she was all right or not. That was just the kind of guy he was. Still, she couldn't keep it inside for much longer, so she decided to tell him anyway.

"A friend of mine passed away recently," she told him, looking away.

She heard Scott sigh, "I'm sorry. Who was he? Did I know him?"

"No," Cheryl said at once, "he was a friend from.. a long time ago."

"He?" Scott said, almost sceptically, then realised his mistake. "Sorry, Cheryl. I didn't mean that. Are you okay?"

What a question. "Not really," Cheryl replied curtly.

"Do you want me to leave?"

"No," Cheryl said quickly, not wanting to be alone anymore, "I'm sorry Scott, it's just.. he was a good friend, and.."

"You don't have to explain," Scott said softly, sitting down on the arm of the chair and putting his arm around her, "I'm just not used to seeing you like this, Cheryl. If I'm being honest, it upsets me to see you like this."

Cheryl said nothing to this. She continued to look away from him, and a few minutes passed before she finally had the courage to speak again. "Can we just stay in tonight? I know I said I wanted to go out, but with everything that's happened, I don't think I can."

"Yeah, sure," Scott said, though he sounded slightly disappointed, "Look, I'll give you a few minutes to yourself. I'll just be in there," he said, pointing to the bedroom. Cheryl nodded and Scott got up, and walked over to the bedroom, disappearing inside.

Cheryl sighed to herself as she sat there in the darkness. "Douglas," she started sadly, "Why the hell did you have to go and do this to me?"

She had the dream again that night. That reoccurring dream she'd have every now and then. In it, she would return to Silent Hill again, only this time something was wrong. This time she couldn't get through. The gate was closed now, and also locked. No matter how hard Cheryl tried to get across, she just couldn't. She glanced helplessly around, searching hard for another way in, but found none. She felt the tears streaming down her cheeks, and suddenly Douglas appeared before her.

"You're a good girl, Heather," he said with a kindly smile, "You don't need to go there. Not anymore."

Heather? But her name was _Cheryl. _Her name hadn't been Heather for almost four years.

"You'll always be Heather to me," Douglas explained, as if able to read her thoughts, "I love you, as if you were my own daughter. Just don't do this to yourself, okay? You're going to feel like you need to return to that town. But that's not you feeling that way, okay? That's Alessa feeling _for_ you, do you understand?"

Alessa? What did Alessa have to do with any of this? But wait, Cheryl _was _Alessa. Still.. what did Douglas mean by that?

Cheryl moved closer to him, and reached out to place a hand on his arm, but her hand simply slipped through him. She stared up at him, unsure of what was going on. Douglas simply smiled knowingly at her and began to fade out.

"No! _No!" _Cheryl cried, helpless to do anything but watch as he disappeared right before her eyes. "Douglas.. you can't do this to me.. not now.."

To her surprise, the lock on the gates broke off, and they slowly began to open. Cheryl glanced uncertainly at them, but as this was a dream, and nothing could happen to her, she walked through the gates, and into the town she had visited so often before in her dreams. It didn't look any different, either. There was still fog all around, and the place was empty. Cheryl couldn't hear a thing, not even the sounds of any monsters. She would actually have welcomed those sounds; the fact that she could hear nothing at all worried her even more. She kept on walking, unsure of where she was going. It was just a dream anyway, so what did it even matter.

After a short while, Cheryl became aware of footsteps close behind her. They were very quiet, but because there were no other sounds in the town she could hear them distinctively. She stopped in her tracks and stared around. The moment she did so, the footsteps ceased. She started walking again. The footsteps started again.

"Whoever you are," Cheryl yelled, "Come out here and tell me what you want!"

The sounds of the footsteps were replaced by the sound of heavy breathing. As Cheryl listened, she noticed that it was gradually getting louder. Eventually, it got so loud that it was as if whatever it was that was emitting the awful sound was right beside her. This was enough for Cheryl. She bolted down the road, not even sure of whether she was running to or away from whatever it was that was pursuing her, but not caring either way. She wanted this dream to end. It was different now, for she'd never been chased by anything in her dreams before. Though she knew she was dreaming, she was still terrified.

"Wake up," she said to herself as she ran, "Wake _up, _Alessa."

In a flash of light, the dream ended, and Cheryl sat bolt upright. She was awake now, and thankful to be out of there. Luckily, she hadn't woke Scott, who was sleeping soundly beside her. Still, something about the end of the dream was bothering Cheryl.

"Why.." she began, running a hand through her hair, "Why did I call myself Alessa?"


	3. Chapter Two: It Starts Now

Scott discovered his fiancé sitting alone in the kitchen, arms propped up on the table. She looked, well, Scott couldn't really describe it. But he knew right away that something was wrong.

He'd only met Cheryl several months ago, but they'd hit it off right away, and he had liked her immediately. He'd been attracted to her sweet personality, but right then he hadn't known that the girl had quite a temper on her. Despite this, however, he still loved her. Scott knew how Cheryl could get sometimes, had been witness to her mood swings plenty of times. But he had never seen her like this. She barely even seemed to notice as he walked in. She just continued to stare into space, completely ignoring his presence.

"Cheryl."

She didn't even bother to look up. "Cheryl," Scott tried again, getting exasperated, "I know you're upset, but you've got to get some sleep. This is about your friend, right?"

To his great surprise, Cheryl shook her head. It was then that Scott finally sussed it out.

"You had it again, didn't you?" he inquired, "The nightmare."

He watched as she slowly began to turn away from him, and he could see that she was visibly shaking. He walked over to her, trying to comfort her, but she pushed him away as soon as he got close. "Okay, okay," he started uneasily, "Why don't you just tell me what it was about?"

Cheryl hesitated. "No," she said awkwardly.

Scott was a patient man, and you really did have to be patient with a girl like Cheryl, but not being able to help her was beginning to get to him. "You can't just not tell me stuff like this. I need to know what's going on. What's the matter with you, Cheryl? I thought we agreed we'd never keep stuff like this secret from each other."

"They're just dreams," Cheryl said, sounding irritated, "So why do you need to know about them?"

"Because they're doing this to you," he said, throwing up his hands, "You're not the same person you used to be, Cheryl. What I mean to say is, lately, you've been acting strange. Different, is the right word, actually."

She looked like he'd just slapped her hard in the face. He felt a pang of guilt, seeing that look of hurt spread across her face, but at the same time he knew it had to be said. If she wanted him to help her, then they were going to have to be completely honest with each other. And that was exactly what he was doing right now. Being honest with her.

As he'd expected, she said nothing to this but her face reddened considerably and she looked away from him. He could see it in her eyes, he'd upset her more by saying that. Scott was beginning to take back what he had said when she suddenly spoke up.

"You wouldn't believe me," Cheryl started hoarsely, "if I told you."

Scott went and sat down beside her. "Try me," he replied softly.

She glanced at him nervously, and Scott knew at once that this was something serious. She'd never looked so reluctant to tell him something before. He was beginning to regret inquiring about it in the first place. What if it was something bad? Something that she'd done? He felt a knot tying in his stomach as she opened her mouth to speak.

"In this uh, _nightmare_," Cheryl started uncertainly, "I'm.. in this place I visited once. This is going to sound crazy.. but have you ever heard of a town called Silent Hill?"

Scott furrowed his brow, trying to remember. _Silent Hill.. _where had he heard that before? It was then that he remembered. Yes, he _had _heard of Silent Hill. Gary had been talking about it at work, just the other week. But what of it? And why was Cheryl asking him about this?

"Yeah," he answered her, "but what does this have to do—"

"It's a long story," Cheryl mumbled, "and no matter how I tell it, you're not going to believe me. I don't even think it's worth telling you. You'll probably just think I'm crazy."

Scott hadn't heard this long story yet so he couldn't really comment, but part of him hoped he'd be able to understand what she was about to tell him, because he didn't want to think she was crazy, of course he had no idea what was going on—yet.

"Cheryl," he started gently, "Please. Just tell me."

He waited for her to say something else. Cheryl glanced down at the table, heaving a sigh. "Okay," she began heavily, "There's a lot of stuff you don't know about me. I was going to tell you when we first met, but then I decided that maybe I shouldn't. You were the first decent guy I'd met in a long time, and I didn't want to screw up what we had together. You understand that, right?"

Scott was worried now, but he still nodded as she spoke. "Anyway," Cheryl went on, "Like I said, you're probably not going to believe me. But here goes.."

And she told him everything. Scott listened, wondering what he had gotten himself into as he did so. He listened to how her name had been Heather instead of Cheryl four months prior. He listened to how she had managed to fight off some cult named the Order, and how she had almost lost her life in Silent Hill. She also mentioned that her friend who had recently passed was involved with all of this, too. Well, that did explain why she had been looking so upset.

At the end of it, he simply drew breath, not being able to think of a single thing to say to her. He didn't know whether to believe her or not. It sounded completely ridiculous, really; the idea of a seventeen year old being able to fight off monsters, or whatever they were, and at the same time avoid being captured by some cult, sounded completely ludicrous. If Cheryl really had been through all of that, then how was she still alive? How did someone _live through _something like that?

"Wow," he breathed, still trying to think of something he could say to her which wouldn't make her think that he didn't believe her, "Cheryl.."

"I told you," she began shrilly, "I knew you wouldn't believe me!"

"I didn't say that," Scott said softly, but Cheryl stood up abruptly.

"You didn't need to," she replied with so much venom that he was taken aback, "The one person that I thought would believe me, and you think I'm crazy. Well, I'm not."

"I don't think you're crazy," Scott said truthfully, starting to rise from his seat, but Cheryl just started backing away from him as if she was afraid of him.

"You can believe what you want," she spat, "I didn't expect you to believe me. I don't know why I even bothered telling you. This is just.."

Tears rolled down her cheeks, and a moment later she ran into the bedroom. All Scott could do was stand there helplessly, unable to think of anything he could say or do to help. He wasn't sure how he felt about what Cheryl had just told him; he eventually decided that he would try to get some sleep, and go over what she had said in the morning.

As soon as he walked into the bedroom, Cheryl turned to glare at him. "I don't think I can sleep in the same bed as you, if you don't believe me," she said viciously, and grabbed a spare duvet before heading for the door.

Scott tried to stop her, "Cheryl, please don't do this. Let me sleep on the couch."

Cheryl just pushed past him without a word, and slammed the door behind her. Scott leaned up against the door and listened. As he'd expected, he could hear sobbing on the other side.

Hours later, Cheryl began to stir. Her eyes cracked open, and she struggled to sit up, propping her back up against the arm of the couch. Her head was pounding; it was like she'd just woken up after a night of heavy drinking. She started to remember what had gone on last night with Scott, and suddenly felt a tremendous amount of guilt.

She hadn't meant to talk to him like that. At the time, she'd thought that he didn't believe her. Yet she hadn't even given him the chance to tell her what he thought about it. Cheryl hoped that she hadn't driven him away, that he would give her the chance to explain herself. Groaning, she got slowly to her feet, and rubbed her eyes. It must have been around ten o'clock, which meant that Scott was probably still around. She knew it was his day off, and also knew that he liked to sleep in on his days off. She walked slowly over to the bedroom and tentatively put her hand on the door knob. "Scott?" she started uncertainly, hating herself for the way she had acted before. To her surprise the door was slightly ajar, and so she pushed it open, revealing an empty bed. Cheryl's heart sank. Scott was gone.

She immediately grabbed the phone and punched in his cell phone number. However, after a while it became clear that he wasn't going to pick up. "Damnit," Cheryl growled, throwing the phone onto the couch. She automatically assumed that he had gone over to Darryl's, and decided to try there first. She had to find out what he really thought about all this. She couldn't stand not knowing how he felt about it.

After dressing quickly, Cheryl grabbed her jacket and left, determined to find him.

000

"Alessa? Don't you dare speak of her? She's _ruined _us. Do you have any idea how much damage she has done? Thanks to her, the remaining members of the Order have all scattered. They don't believe in our cause anymore. Not to mention we lost a loyal member, Claudia Wolf. If you have come here to talk to me about her, then you can leave right now."

"But I have news," the other man said, "I've seen her. I've talked to her."

"You are a disgrace. Why would you associate with her? She should be put to death for the sins she has committed. If it were up to me, I would have her castrated. She has ruined everything. And to think, all those years we spent planning this, planning the birth of God, and it was all for nothing."

"You've got to listen to me," the other man said, sounding exasperated, "What I am about to tell you has remained a secret for several years. Claudia Wolf told me something in confidence."

The smaller man, who sported short dark hair though he was noticeably balding, looked up at the other man and scowled. "Well? What is it?" he asked, his patience with this other man wearing thin.

The other man cleared his throat. "Claudia was willing to do whatever it took to make sure that the girl, _Alessa, _birthed God like she had always meant to. After a failed attempt seventeen years prior, Claudia believed she could, or _would, _get it right that time. However, as we both know, she unfortunately failed during her attempt."

There was a brief silence. The smaller man frowned. "What are you trying to tell me? Could you please make your point quickly before I lose my patience with you?"

"Claudia told me something, a month before she died," the other man explained, "She explained to me that even if they failed this time, Alessa would eventually return to Silent Hill, no matter what happened."

The smaller man wasn't following. "I still don't understand."

"Though the young woman has tried to move on with her life, her past will come back to haunt her, and soon. Claudia told me that she would grow steadily weaker, as her true self would eventually begin to take her over, or possess her for a better word."

"How do you know this?" the smaller man asked.

"I told you, I've seen her. I delivered some bad news to her, which is bound to have caused an impact on her. Not only that, but from what I can tell, she is already quite weak. She'll return, and very soon, trust me."

"But what are we meant to do when she does?" the smaller man asked, feeling exasperated, "She didn't birth God. Infact, she _killed _God."

"Revenge," the other man said pointedly, "for all that she has put us through. Try to find the remaining members of the Order, and tell them what's happening. I'm sure they'd like to see the witch burn for what she's done to us."

The smaller man understood completely now. A cynical smile played on his lips. "For once, Morris, you have proven your worth. I'm impressed with you."

"Oh yes, I forgot to tell you," Morris went on, "I managed to get to that Detective. I was forced to pose as his brother. You won't need to worry about him trying to get in our way—again."

The smaller man clapped his hands in delight, "Ah, I remember him. He was the one Claudia ordered to find Alessa, wasn't he?"

Morris nodded. "Indeed," he said simply.

The smaller man's smile vanished. "That stupid wench ruined everything. Once she arrives at Silent Hill, we will make sure that she suffers immensely."

Morris smiled and nodded along with him.

"Morris," the smaller man said suddenly, "Try to round up members of the Order. Tell them about this, and tell them to wait for me at Silent Hill."

"Of course," Morris drawled, bowing his head. "I'll get right onto it."

He left shortly after, and the smaller man simply laughed to himself, an insane smile lighting up his face. Alessa Gillespie would finally get what she deserved.


	4. Chapter Three: Can't Forget

Cheryl arrived back at the apartment feeling more miserable than she had done in a very long time. Scott had disappeared, it seemed; she had looked everywhere for him but with no luck. She knew exactly why he had left. He was angry with her, no, that was an understatement: he was furious with her. Cheryl couldn't really blame him. After the way she had acted towards him, it wouldn't surprise her if he never came back at all.

Throwing her keys to one side, Cheryl stood there beside the door for a moment, before she felt her legs buckle, and she slowly slumped down to the floor, and buried her head in her hands. She felt like such a fool for telling him. If she hadn't, maybe things would be all right now. She couldn't bear to think that he had left her for good. He had to come back.. he just had to.. he was all she had left..

Still, there was nothing she could do now but hope that he would call her. She glanced across to the phone, which was sitting on the table. Cheryl half expected it to ring suddenly, but it didn't. Heaving a sigh, and feeling extremely depressed, Cheryl rose slowly to her feet, brushed herself down, and tried to ignore the fact that she just wanted to go and cry herself to sleep. She had been through so much in the last few years, and she wasn't about to give up on herself now. Scott would be back, she knew it. Well, of course she didn't, but she had to hope that he would be. For now, she would just have to wait.

Thinking of Scott, and what had happened between them, made Cheryl think of her father. It was strange, as she hadn't had the time to think about him for quite a while. She'd been so busy juggling her relationship with Scott with her busy hours at work that she just hadn't had the time. Now that she did, however, she felt like she didn't want to think about him, figuring that it would only make things worse. It upset her to think about him, and when she remembered that he was gone, and not coming back, it gave her an awful, yet quirky feeling.

"Heather? Heather!"

Cheryl couldn't stop herself. She slumped down against the wall again, felt the tears rolling down her cheeks.

"What are you doing in there? You're going to be late for.. Heather? Oh, Jesus.."

He'd meant everything to her. Nobody else had even come close. It had just been them, for he'd never told her much about her mother. Not that Cheryl had really cared, because she'd been content with having him all to herself, but every once in a while she had thought to ask him about it. Still, she'd figured that the subject might have caused painful memories for her father, and so she'd left it alone, not realising that her biological mother had been the cause for both her misery, and also her father's. She wished she'd known about it earlier, because then she could have been more prepared.. she could have saved him.

"If you're smoking in there, you're grounded, you hear me? Are you listening to me, Heather? Get out here! There's something I need to talk to you about.."

She remembered it like it was yesterday. She'd been smoking in her room, _again, _and he'd given her yet another lecture of the risk of lung cancer, yada yada.. Cheryl had barely listened. Well, not at the time, anyway. But his words had come back to her several weeks later, and then she had felt terrible for being so mean to him. So then she had given up, and it hadn't been easy. Cheryl remembered having to throw out all of her cigarettes, much to her father's delight, but one night she had crept into the kitchen to grab a pack which she had hidden under the sink. Her father hadn't caught her doing so, but still, Cheryl had felt bad about it, and then she gave up for good.

She remembered the conversation they'd had, the day he'd caught her smoking again in her room. That conversation had puzzled her slightly, for he'd been acting mighty strange that day. Almost as if something was bothering him, and not just the fact that she had been smoking again when she'd sworn that she wouldn't.

No, it had been something else.

000

"Heather?"

"Yes, I'm coming!"

The door opened and Heather stepped out of her room, hardly caring about the fact that he could probably smell the smoke. Sure enough, she watched as his nostrils flared, and he frowned at her. "You said you were quitting."

"Yeah well.." Heather began exasperatedly, "You were a kid once, Dad. You know how it is.."

"I know that I don't want my sixteen year old daughter to be smoking," Harry said sharply, glancing her up and down, "That's what you're wearing? Y'know, you could try to look a bit more.."

"Oh, can it, Dad," Heather snapped, glowering up at him, "I can wear whatever the hell I like. Anyway, the last time I went to school wearing what you'd picked out for me, I barely lasted the day. So if it's all the same to you, I'll wear this."

Harry shook his head at her, disgusted, "I can't believe you. What happened to my little girl? What have you turned into?"

Heather rolled her eyes just as her cell began to ring loudly, "It's Phil. I'm just gonna.." she fished her cell out of her jacket pocket, but to her horror Harry yanked it right out of her hands. "What the hell are you doing?!" she exclaimed, trying to grab it off of him, but Harry held it out of her reach.

"What I should have done three months ago," Harry said, "Now, you're going to be late. And if you want it back, you're going to stop smoking, just like I asked. Do we have a deal?"

Heather cursed under her breath and glared at him. "Whatever," she said coldly, looking away.

Harry looked extremely satisfied with this and folded his arms. "Okay, glad we got that straightened out. Now, hurry up, you'll be late otherwise."

Heather clenched her fists, trying not to lose her temper, which was something she did quite often, especially with her father. Then, realising that the battle was already lost, she sighed and recoiled. "Fine," she muttered, and started to turn away, when she felt Harry lay a hand on her shoulder.

"Heather," he started gently, "I'm just looking out for you. And yeah, I used to drink and smoke and even do drugs once upon a time, but that's not what I want you to do. I don't want you to follow in my footsteps, okay?"

Suddenly, Heather felt a strong pang of guilt. Staring up at him, she nodded, and then felt embarrassed. She wished she hadn't snapped at him before, and been so rude. She knew he was just trying to help her, and she was thankful for that.

"All right, then," she mumbled and, without even thanking him, or even turning around, she started towards the door and left the apartment, leaving Harry to stare after her as she set off for school.

000

It was getting dark when Cheryl finally woke up. She'd dreamt of something else besides the town, _ for once, _although this particular dream had revolved around her father. It saddened her to think of him, and she wished she could think of something else besides him, Scott, or that damned town. No such luck. It was always one of the three.

It was nine o'clock. Cheryl groaned, knowing she would have to try to come up with a decent excuse for missing work that day. She was surprised that Marianne hadn't called her up about it yet. Maybe she'd been fired already. No, Marianne would make sure to fire her infront of everyone, just for her enjoyment. God, Cheryl just couldn't think straight anymore. She wished she could go back to sleep, but she was wide awake now. Groaning, she got up and walked into the kitchen, wondering whether to make herself something now that she was awake. Or maybe she should go out, just to get some air, or just do something. Maybe she'd run into Scott.

_Of course not._

The moment this thought entered her head, the phone began to ring. Cheryl jumped at the sound of it, and held her breath. What if it was Scott? If this was so, then Cheryl would apologize profusely to him, tell him that she loved him with all her heart, and then she'd apologize again. Quick as grease lightning, Cheryl ran over and grabbed the phone up, pressing it to her ear.

"Hello??" she breathed, suddenly feeling quite faint.

No answer.

Well, that was odd. Maybe Scott was just hesitating. "Scott," Cheryl started desperatedly, "I am so, _so _sorry. I never meant for this to happen. I don't care whether you believe me or not, I don't even mind if you think I'm crazy, I just want you to come home. Scott? Please talk to me. Are you--?"

There was a crackling noise from down the line.

Cheryl froze, and it was then that she realised with growing horror that it wasn't Scott on the other end of the line. "Who is this?" she hissed, temper rising.

"S..S..o..u.."

"What?!" Cheryl exclaimed, extremely perplexed now.

The voice was quite deep, and not one that Cheryl recognized. She tried to make out what it was saying, but with great difficulty. Whoever it was had decided to speak so quietly that she could barely hear them.

"S..S..South.." it started, "South Ashfield.."

"Excuse me?" Cheryl said flatly, not expecting an answer.

"South Ashfield _Heights._" The voice said sharply, loud enough for her to hear, and then the line went dead.

Cheryl could only stare down at the phone, wondering what the hell had just happened. South Ashfield Heights? What the hell was that supposed to mean? But wait.. Ashfield. Cheryl recognized it as the name of a town she'd visited with Libby a couple of years ago. But what did Ashfield have to do with..

Silent Hill.

The phone call..

Cheryl had no enemies, and her friends would never prank call her like that. It could only mean one thing— her past was coming back to haunt her, _again._

She could have cried, but she was too afraid. Instead, she just glanced bleakly at the phone, before setting it down. She then fell into the chair behind her, and considered her options. The dreams.. she should have known something like this would happen. She should have known that she couldn't hide forever.

"Ashfield.." she whispered to herself, as she sat there, hugging her knees and staring off into space. She sat like that for a long time, before finally retiring.


	5. Chapter Four: South Ashfield Heights

She didn't even know why she was bothering. All she knew was that she was afraid, more afraid than she had been in a very long time.

Ever since the dreams had started, Cheryl had found herself feeling more and more insecure. Having to remember what had happened to her, all the pain and hurt she had gone through as a teenager, was coming back to haunt her now. She'd honestly believed that it was over, that she'd managed to break free and start afresh. But now she knew better, especially after that phone call. It was still on Cheryl's mind, especially the way the voice had been so sharp, so firm. "South Ashfield Heights," it had said. What exactly did that mean? All Cheryl knew was that it had something to do with the town of Ashfield, specifically the south area, and that was why she was going there. She needed to settle this once and for all. If this was real, or if someone was playing a joke on her, then she needed to know about it. She sincerely hoped it was the latter, however.

Also, ever since the call, she'd been feeling even more insecure than usual. It was always like someone was watching her every move or something like that. Cheryl wondered if she was going crazy, or if she was right. Either way, she was going to find out. Her life, the life she had fought so hard to rebuild, was falling apart right in front of her.

And Scott still hadn't called.

Infact, Cheryl hadn't seen him since their argument. But that had been three days ago. Now that she thought about it, Cheryl wondered if the strange phone call could be connected with his disappearance. The thought scared her more than anything. If something had happened to him.. oh God, she didn't even want to think about that.

It had been a long drive. Cheryl had debated taking the subway, but with everything that was happening she guessed she just felt safer driving to Ashfield herself. Now that she was here, she was admittedly scared. If anything had happened to Scott, then would never be able to forgive herself. That she'd gotten him mixed up in all of this was unforgivable. He didn't even deserve to be a part of this mess.

Confused as to where she was supposed to go next, Cheryl spotted someone on the sidewalk and pulled over beside them. "Excuse me!" she called, and the young man turned and grinned stupidly at her.

"What's up, babe?" he asked, walking over to her.

Cheryl sighed impatiently, "Listen, I'm trying to find South Ashfield Heights. What is it, exactly? Some kind of company?"

The boy fell quiet. "Uh, sorry, but I.."

Cheryl was about to say thanks anyway and leave, but then the boy clicked his fingers as if she'd suddenly remembered something. "Oh, right! You mean that old apartment building, right?"

"Uh, I guess so," Cheryl replied to this.

The kid shrugged, "Well, that place got knocked down a few years back. Somethin' funny happened there, or somethin'.. anyway, someone ended up dead, and that's all I know."

Cheryl frowned. So someone had died there. Great, that made her feel a lot more positive.

"Thanks," she said gratefully to him, and then she went on her way again. So the place, the apartment building, had been knocked down. If that was so, then why had the voice specifically said 'South Ashfield Heights'? It could have just told her to go to South Ashfield. But why that apartment building? If something bad had happened there that had resulted in someone's death, then what did it have to do with her?

Nevertheless, she was going to have to try and find out what had gone on there. Cheryl made a right at the end of the road. She could feel her eyelids drooping from lack of sleep. It was true, she hadn't been getting a lot of sleep since the dreams had started, but that was nothing compared to the amount of sleep she was getting now. For the last few days since Scott's disappearance, Cheryl had only been getting two to four hours of sleep a night. Before the dreams had started to occur, she would sometimes sleep for up to twelve hours on her days off. Scott would often playfully say that she was lazy, and Cheryl would just laugh and roll her eyes at him.

But he wasn't here now. Cheryl's grip tightened on the steering wheel as she carried on down the road. She missed him so much, and yet she knew that something was wrong, that he would surely have called her to at least tell her that he was leaving her. He wouldn't have just left without a word. It wasn't like him, and that was what was worrying Cheryl so much.

Though her thoughts didn't stray from Scott, Cheryl suddenly caught sight of a building site. Her eyes narrowed as she passed by, and the thought suddenly occurred to her: _Maybe this was once South Ashfield Heights?_

Without hesitation, Cheryl's foot slammed onto the break and the car came to a sudden halt. "Not the greatest driver in the world.." she muttered to herself, knowing how true that was. After opening the car door, Cheryl stepped out into the blinding sunlight. It was a nice day, yet she could still feel a chilly breeze, and she shuddered.

"Need some help, lady?"

Cheryl was about to turn and offer a retort to whomever had spoken, but to her surprise she saw that it was just one of the builders, presumably on his lunch break. A tall, dark and muscular young man was striding towards her. Though Cheryl knew she was meant to be concentrating on the task at hand, a part of her couldn't help but stare as he walked over to her. She finally came to her senses.

"Maybe," she said, approaching him, "I was just wondering whether this place used to be an apartment building? Called South Ashfield Heights?"

"Sure did," the man said, "But that was a couple o' years ago now. Just only been decided that it was gonna be transformed into a casino."

"A casino?" Cheryl repeated sceptically, raising an eyebrow.

The man shrugged, "Don't ask me about it. All I know is its bein' made into a casino. We only just started work here a couple of weeks ago, anyway."

"So they demolished it, and then nothing else was built here for two whole years?" Cheryl asked incredulously, wondering how that was possible. It was a large lot; Cheryl would have thought that someone would have done something with it before now. Then she remembered what that kid had said. "Did someone die here? In the apartment building, I mean."

At her words, the man fell silent for a moment. "Yeah, a woman. Don't know her name, though. See, there was some weird shit goin' on in that apartment building. Some guy went missin' six months prior to the woman's death, but they never found the poor guy. They still think their deaths were connected or somethin'."

"Connected?" Cheryl started, "but what if the man isn't dead?"

The man scoffed at this, "Yeah, right. He ain't been seen by anyone in years. I think it's safe ta' assume that he's gone, don't you?"

Though he was probably right, something about the entire thing bugged Cheryl. By the sounds of it, something strange had happened here. Now Cheryl understood why whoever had been on the phone had told her to come here. Maybe what had happened had something to do with her?

"Did you know anyone in the building?" Cheryl inquired, extremely curious now, "Like, anyone that worked there?"

The man suddenly looked suspicious. "You're not some reporter, are ya?"

"No way," Cheryl said, "So, do you?"

He looked like he was trying to remember. "Well, a friend o' mine used to live there, but only for a couple o' months. Still, I do remember this one guy. I'd see 'im sometimes when I came to see Vinny. He was a real weirdo, kept hangin' around the ground floor, always lookin' like he was up to somethin'. Vin was in 108, but this guy.. I'd always seem him hangin' around near Vin's room. At first, I thought nothin' of it, but after I came over a few more times I started gettin' suspicious, y'know? Anyways, this guy seemed like a real nut job. I think he was stalkin' this woman who lived just down the hall from Vin. Dunno much else about him, but all I know is that he was a real suspicious character." He paused, and added: "Mike. I think his name was Mike.."

The man trailed off, looking thoughtful. Cheryl nodded, "Mike? So, you don't know his last name, or where I can find him?"

To her disappointment, the man shook his head. "Nope, sorry. Like I said, it was years ago, an' I only saw him about four or five times. You could try lookin' up the super, though. I haven't heard about him for a long while, but it's worth a shot. His name is Frank Sunderland."

Cheryl rolled her eyes. Why couldn't he have just told her that before, instead of spinning her a story about some weirdo who had lived in the apartment building? Well, at least he'd given her a name. Frank Sunderland.

"D'you know where he lives?" she asked, and to her surprise the builder appeared to know something.

"No," he said, and Cheryl's heart sank, "but I know someone who does. His sister, Lydia. She lives uptown on Brooklyn Street, just north of St. Jerome's Hospital. Uh.. it was number five, I think."

Cheryl nodded, extremely grateful for this, "Thank you so much. You've been a great help, believe me."

"No problem," the man said casually, "If you uh, need anymore info, you know where to find me. I'm Pete, by the way."

Cheryl felt herself blush as he gave her a winning smile. Then she wanted to kick herself for doing this. Scott was still missing, and she needed to find him. "Thanks, Pete," Cheryl said quickly, and left without another word.

Well, at least she had a lead. Cheryl walked back to her car, and stole a glance at Pete as she went to open the door. Then, she got inside, and with some hesitation made her way over to Brooklyn Street.

000

It wasn't a long drive, and it didn't take Cheryl long to find the right house. As she approached the front door, extending her arm to knock, she stopped, suddenly afraid. That feeling was back again, the one that made her feel like every move she made was being observed by some unseen force. She was still thinking about the call, and also about Scott, wishing that he would at least contact her. She'd tried to deny that his disappearance had something to do with what was happening, but the more she did this the more she began to realise that maybe it did after all. The thought of him getting hurt scared her immensely, but she had to keep focused.

Trying to shake the feeling off, she rapped three times on the door and waited for an answer. Something in the window caught her eye, but as her eyes snapped across to see what it was, the door opened suddenly.

A thin old woman stood before her. She looked terrible, and that was an understatement. She was pale and tired looking, and Cheryl guessed that she was either a junkie or alcoholic, or even both, judging from her features. Cheryl recounted her days at school when she'd often gone to lectures with a junkie called Jasper Gein, who had always shown up to lectures looking tired and pale. He'd always sat there, unable to concentrate, shaking violently like he couldn't wait to have his next fix. Cheryl had actually been afraid of him and seeing him like that every day had been enough to put her off drink and drugs for life.

But this woman here, she was something else. She actually looked _worse _than Jasper. She might have been younger than she looked, but it was hard to tell. Her hair was grey and greasy, and there was a strong stench of smoke that made Cheryl's head swim.

"What do you want?" she barked, and Cheryl could smell the strong stench of alcohol on her breath. "Who are you?"

"I need to talk to you," Cheryl said, taking a step back, "My name is Cheryl Mason. Are you Lydia Sunderland?"

Lydia's nose twitched. "I don't know you. Should I?"

"No," Cheryl said quickly, "I was told that you lived here and.. I need to ask you some questions about your brother, Frank Sunderland."

Upon the mention of Frank, Lydia's eyes widened and she suddenly ushered Cheryl into the house, slamming the door behind them. She immediately turned on Cheryl. "What is it that you want? Why do you come here asking me about Frank?"

"It's about South Ashfield Heights," Cheryl started, feeling exasperated. She was beginning to get the feeling that she wasn't going to get a lot of information out of this old woman. "Your brother was the superintendent there, right?"

Lydia was silent for a moment, and then she nodded, "Yes, that's true. The day they knocked that place down was the day that Frank.." she heaved a sigh and led Cheryl into the next room, "Come on, sit down. This better be important, though. It is important, right?"

"Yes, yes," Cheryl said quickly, slightly afraid, "Miss Sunderland, d'you know why they knocked down South Ashfield Heights?"

Lydia snorted, "Yes, I do. And it wasn't a moment too soon, if you ask me. That place.. I just can't believe Frank continued to live and work there, even after everything that happened. He just refused to leave. That place.. it was his home. He was devastated when they forced him out."

"What happened?" Cheryl asked, and Lydia shuddered.

"There was something wrong with that apartment building," she said in a hushed tone, "Even today, nobody can fathom how it happened. I'm still not sure myself, but I know it had something to do with a killing spree.."

"Killing spree?" Cheryl croaked, suddenly wishing she was somewhere else.

"Yeah," Lydia muttered, "It all started in the summer of '94. I can still remember seeing that first news bulletin.. apparently not only killed the guy, but had also carved numbers into his chest.."

Cheryl was not enjoying this conversation, but she still had to listen. "Did they ever find..?" she started, and was cut off by Lydia.

"Well, not at first," she said, "it took them a while to finally catch up with him. Walter Sullivan was his name. He went to prison of course, but then.." she sighed, "then he killed himself. They all thought it was over, but.."

Cheryl just stared. "But it wasn't?" she said hoarsely, after a long pause.

"It was far from over," Lydia said softly, "For a few years, nothing happened. Then, more bodies started turning up. Everyone assumed it was some idiot copycat, but I know the truth. I _saw _him."

"You saw him?" Cheryl started apprehensively, "You mean.. he wasn't really dead?"

Lydia laughed, "Nobody knows. Maybe he is dead, and maybe they were all killed by a ghost or something. It's not a logical explanation, but it's the only explanation that anyone has for what's happened right now."

Hearing this made Cheryl's blood run cold. The call.. it had definitely been a man's voice, that was for sure. But no.. it couldn't be. He couldn't have led her here, could he? But why? What did she have to do with any of this?

_The question is, what does Alessa have to do with any of this?_

"I heard that someone died at South Ashfield Heights," Cheryl said finally, though she couldn't stop thinking about Walter Sullivan. What if he was out there somewhere? What if he was waiting for her?

Lydia nodded affirmative, "That's true. A woman, by the name of Eileen Galvin. Frank was quite upset by her death. I met her once, too. Nice girl." She glanced absently around the room, "I don't know why you've come here to inquire about that place, but I've told you everything I know."

"Okay," Cheryl nodded, "What about Frank? Where can I find him?"

Lydia just laughed again. "Frank? He's been dead a year on Friday. Couldn't deal with losing his business."

The fact that Lydia said this with little compassion made Cheryl all the more eager to leave. "Well.. thank you. I mean, thanks for helping me out. I'll go now."

"You're welcome," Lydia said darkly, "but I don't know why a young girl like you would want to know anything about Walter Sullivan?"

Cheryl stopped trying to force a smile and grimaced at the other woman. "Thanks for your time, Miss Sunderland." She then left without another word, and the other woman didn't even show her to the door. Nevertheless, it felt good to be out of there, and yet Cheryl knew more than she had when she'd first arrived there.

"That's for sure," she said to herself, wondering what could possibly connect _her _to the killer named Walter Sullivan.


	6. Chapter Five: In Dreams

The door was unlocked.

Cheryl reached out to turn the knob, but then she hesitated. For the first time since she'd started having these dreams, she was finally able to explore the town further. She stood at the door, and felt her hesitation turn to something else. She was scared. Well, that was understatement. Terrified could describe her feelings at that point much better.

She knew exactly what was behind this door, as well. The door itself was lilac-coloured, or at least it had been once; it was now smeared with dark, red blood. Though Cheryl had left most of her memories of being Alessa behind long ago, she would never forget this place. She'd revisited it during her hellish adventure in Silent Hill, four long years ago. It had looked exactly the same as it had when she'd been a young girl. Also, everything had been exactly where she had left it. From the playing cards which she had left strewn out on the floor after yet another game with Claudia, to the old sketchbook which she had left laying on the bed, Cheryl had seemed to remember everything. Maybe because that room had been like her a _home, _the place she'd used as refuge when her mother had been in another of her moods, and when Claudia had come around to play. The room itself held many memories for Cheryl, memories she would rather forget. She did not want to remember anymore; she was no longer Alessa, she was Cheryl. Wasn't she?

_Nonononono you're not Alessa you're not Heather you're Cheryl you're—_

Then came a loud crashing sound. It took Cheryl a moment to realise that it was coming from behind the door. She glanced around wildly, expecting something to jump out at her. She glanced back at the door and swallowed hard. She didn't know why she was even doing this. Maybe it was unlocked for a reason. Maybe if she did this, she'd be free of these dreams, these nightmares, forever. Cheryl held her breath and opened the door.

And opened her mouth in shock.

Her old self, or _true self, _as Claudia had once said a very long time ago, was sitting cross-legged on the floor. Cheryl just stood entranced, watching as the girl emitted a laugh and threw down the cards she had been holding.

"I win!" she declared, grinning at the small blonde girl sitting opposite her.

The other girl pouted, "No fair!" she whined, tossing her cards to one side.

Alessa went and sat down next to little Claudia, who was about to start sobbing. "Don't worry, I'll let you win next time, I promise," Alessa said softly, and then gave the other girl a hug.

Cheryl could remember consoling Claudia on many occasions as Alessa, but she had often failed at this as Claudia had been such a fragile little girl. Though Cheryl felt nothing but hate and revulsion towards her, she couldn't help but feel sorry for the little girl who sat before her, especially after having met her father. Cheryl would never forget meeting Leonard Wolf. She decided that she didn't want to think about him.

Claudia sniffled and wiped her nose with her sleeve, "It's okay. I'm just bad at this game. Oh, Alessa, I have to go now. My father won't be happy if I'm late."

Alessa's smiled faded. "But he's a bad man. You should come and stay here with me."

"I wish I could," Claudia mumbled, "I hope I can come again to see you tomorrow. Father was in a good mood today, so maybe tomorrow.."

Cheryl watched sadly as the two young girls said their goodbyes, and then side-stepped out of the way as little Claudia stood up and walked over to the doorway. Just as her hand touched the door knob, a loud, shrill voice came from out of nowhere.

"Alessa!" it cried, "I must talk to you! Come here now, please!"

Cheryl suddenly felt hot and angry. It was none other than Dahlia Gillespie, the woman who had started all of this. Cheryl wanted to stop Alessa from going down there, but could only watch helplessly as Alessa stood up and followed Claudia out of the room. The door closed behind them, and Cheryl was left alone.

The dream changed.

Or at least, Cheryl was whisked out of the room and to a different place. As she stared at the sight that met her eyes, she realised that it was also a different time. She just stood there gaping, horrified at what she was seeing. Finally she found the strength to look away. It was Alessa, or _herself, _laying there in a hospital bed. A young nurse with long, dirty blonde hair was sitting by her bed, looking both tired and fed up. Cheryl recognised her instantly. It was Lisa Garland, who had served as Alessa's carer after she'd almost died in the fire caused by Dahlia Gillespie. Cheryl suddenly felt angry again, didn't want to watch she laying there in pain, or this young woman who she knew had died trying to save her life. It was just too much to bear.

Cheryl turned to walk away but found there was no exit. She appeared to be trapped in this dark, dingy room. With great difficulty she turned slowly back to face Alessa and Lisa. She noticed that Lisa was shaking, and watched as the nurse began to tap her foot impatiently against the hard, concrete floor. She looked like she hadn't slept in days. As Cheryl got closer, she could see that Lisa's forehead was coated in sweat, which told Cheryl that the poor woman had probably been down there for most if not all of the day. Suddenly, Lisa stood up abruptly, knocking the chair she'd been sitting on over. She began to pace around the room, and it was clear to Cheryl that being made to stay down here looking after Alessa every single day had taken a toll on her sanity.

"I'm telling him," Cheryl heard Lisa whisper, "I'm telling.."

The rest was inaudible. Cheryl simply watched as Lisa kept pacing while whispering to herself. Alessa didn't show any signs of stirring. Cheryl hoped to God that Lisa would be allowed to leave soon. Even though this had already happened, even though it was the past, she didn't want to have to watch this for much longer. However, at that moment a door appeared out of nowhere, and someone stepped through it. It was a man, tall and dark. He had a sinister look about him, and Cheryl _did _remember him from somewhere, but she just couldn't quite place him. Still, she had to assume that this was the man responsible for her being down there.

"How is she?" he asked, with no emotion whatsoever in his voice. Lisa chose not to answer this question and instead continued to pace around the dark room.

"Lisa?"

Silence.

"_Lisa."_

"What do you think?" Lisa shot back viciously, rounding on him, "Look at her, Michael! What are you expecting to happen? Do you think she'll somehow bounce back? She might still be breathing, but she's _gone. _Why do you insist that I stay down here? Why can't I go home? I feel so.. so.. alone, down here. Please, Michael, let me go.."

Cheryl watched as Lisa began to climb the steps leading up to the doorway where Michael stood, watched as Lisa grabbed onto him and fell to her knees. She could hear the young woman sobbing quietly.

"Get up," Michael snapped, "Get _up!"_

He grabbed her arm and pulled her up to her feet. Lisa squealed and covered her face with her hands. Michael pulled her closer to him, and Cheryl watched as his expression changed. He looked extremely menacing now.

"You will stay down here and look after the girl," he growled as Lisa choked back sobs, "You will do this, unless you want me to cut off your.."

"_No!" _Lisa screeched, grabbing onto him again, "Don't take away my drug, please.. I'll do anything.."

"You will?" Michael sneered, "Well, that's good. You're a good girl, Lisa. Do as I ask, and I'll see that you get your next fix. Are we in agreement?"

Lisa exhaled. "Yes," she said hoarsely, fixing on him with an icy stare.

"Good," Michael said softly, and reached out to caress her cheek, "You can go home in an hour, but I'll be expecting you back here at six o'clock sharp tomorrow. Is that okay?"

It most certainly wasn't okay, but Lisa nodded bitterly nonetheless. Michael looked satisfied with this result and turned to leave without another word, slamming the door behind him.

Cheryl watched as Lisa then returned to her post, looking considerably calmer. Maybe it was because she knew she would be getting her next fix very soon. However, both Lisa and Alessa disappeared seconds later and once again Cheryl found herself in a different location. She could have cried, but she was just so happy to see him that she couldn't bring herself to do so.

Harry Mason, her father, her _hero, _stood before her. Cheryl watched as he confronted Alessa, and actually recognised the area where they stood. This was the Lakeside Amusement Park. Cheryl recalled visiting this area many times, as Alessa of course, with little Claudia. The two of them would often escape to the park to get away from all their troubles at home. At this time the place had been in ruins, however. Cheryl could only watch as her father walked slowly towards the young girl who stood before him.

"Figured you'd show," he snarled, looking so angry that Cheryl actually felt afraid, "Look, I don't know who you are or what you're trying to do, and I don't care. Just one thing. Let Cheryl go. That's all I ask."

And then something strange happened.

Alessa raised her right arm, and seemed to take aim at Harry. Almost instantaneously, Harry was sent flying and fell to the ground.

"Dad!" Cheryl cried, and ran over to where her father lay sprawled out on the ground. She knew he couldn't hear, and this only upset her more. She finally let the tears fall and watched as he tried to get to his feet. However, it was then that a small, triangular-shaped object floated out of Harry's pocket and into the air.

"Huh? What's going on?" Harry muttered, glancing up at the object which was now suspended in the air. Suddenly, a blue light shot out and shielded Harry from Alessa, who stumbled back in surprise.

"Ahh!" the girl cried, falling to the ground.

Cheryl just stared as Harry walked over to Alessa and stood over her. "Where is Cheryl? Give me back my daughter!" he yelled down at Alessa, who was cowering on the ground before him. Suddenly they were interrupted by Dahlia, who appeared seemingly out of nowhere.

"You," Cheryl spat, striding over to where Dahlia stood. "You did this!"

"We meet at last, Alessa," Dahlia drawled, unaware of Cheryl's presence.

"Huh?"

Alessa looked around at her mother. Harry looked up at her too.

"Dahlia Gillespie?" he started, "Where's Cheryl? You tell me where she is, _right now!"_

For Dahlia Gillespie, Harry Mason did not exist. The older woman started to walk slowly over to Alessa, who looked very afraid. "Alessa, this is the end of your little game," she snarled, "You've been a little pest, haven't you? I was careless, thinking you couldn't escape from our spell. But Mommy didn't know how much you'd grown. That's why I couldn't catch you all by myself. But what a pity, yes? Now you're half indebted to this man for his help."

Harry just stood there looking very confused. Alessa glanced up pleadingly at him as Dahlia continued to speak.

"Alessa, my dear little girl. There is one thing left that I need you to do for me."

"No!" Alessa shrieked, as Dahlia grew closer, "Get away from me!"

"Bad girl!" Dahlia scolded, "Everything is ready. Let's go home now.."

Suddenly there was a bright light, and Cheryl felt dizzy. She could feel herself falling, falling..

"Dad.."

000

Cheryl woke with a start. She glanced around and realised, to her relief, that she was back in the safety of her hotel room. Still, that dream.. it hadn't even felt like a dream. It had been more like.. a visit to the past?

_Her past?_

"I don't understand this," Cheryl said to herself, "What's going on here?"


	7. Chapter Six: Could it Be?

AN: Quite a short chapter but there will be a longer one soon, I promise!

Cheryl's eyes struggled open. She managed to sit up, but her head was still spinning after the dream. It had felt more like she'd gone back in time to revisit those moments of her past that she had forgotten all about before. Now she remembered them vividly once again, but she didn't want to. She just wanted to forget. She didn't _want _to be Alessa, she just wanted to be Cheryl, she just wanted to be herself.

It took Cheryl a moment to realise that there was no sunlight coming in through the window. Stiffling a yawn, she got out of bed and, after throwing on her robe, walked over to the window and took a look outside. Yeah, it was going to be a dull day, all right. There were already a dozen black clouds in the sky, and there was a hell of a lot of fog outside. Cheryl glanced over at the alarm clock by the bed and saw that it was just after seven. Well, there was no point in going back to sleep.

She decided that she would take a shower first before going for breakfast. Not that she was very hungry anyway, but Cheryl saw no point in starving herself. As she stepped into the shower, shuddering as the hot, almost scolding water came splashing down onto her body. She rubbed her face with her hands, wondering what she was going to do next. She knew that she was here for a reason, but what reason? And why was all of this happening now, anyway? If this had something to do with the cult, then why had they waited this long to track her down? It had been four years, after all.

Once she was done, a shivering Cheryl stepped out of the shower and reached for a towel. After dressing quickly she left the room and walked out into the hall, shutting the door behind her and locking it. She turned and started down the hall. A young woman with long, black hair was scrubbing the wall, which was covered in red graffiti. As Cheryl passed by, the woman turned her head and her eyes widened.

"Careful, the floor's wet," she warned Cheryl, who stopped abruptly and nodded. "Some guy slipper earlier, even when I warned him.. so, I was just making sure."

"Oh, right," Cheryl said, "Well, thanks."

She started to walk away when the woman spoke up again. "Some people, huh?" she said, gesturing to the graffiti on the wall. "I've only been doing this job for three weeks and I've already spent most of my time cleaning this stuff off."

Cheryl wasn't sure how to reply to this but she did her best. "Yeah, stupid kids," she mumbled, shifting from one foot to the other.

"You're telling me," the woman said in agreement as she continued to scrub at the wall, "I've not seen you around here before. D'you live here or are you just visiting someone?"

"Neither," Cheryl answered casually, "I'm just staying here for a couple of days."

The woman stopped scrubbing and turned to look at her. "Oh, really? So what are you doing in Ashfield? Most people steer clear of this place nowadays, ever since.. well, you know.."

Cheryl wasn't sure why this woman was asking her so many questions but she did her best to answer them anyway. "Oh, you know, just needed to get away for a while."

The woman nodded slowly, "Ah, right. Boyfriend troubles?"

Cheryl was slightly startled by this. "Well, not exactly.." she started uneasily, but the other woman just laughed heartily.

"Don't worry, I know how you feel," she said, rolling her eyes, "Sometimes I don't know why I even bother. Still, these things always work themselves out in the end."

Cheryl considered this but didn't reply. "I'd better get going," she said politely, and gave the woman a smile before walking off down the hall. The other woman didn't respond, however, and Cheryl turned around to say something else, but to her surprise the woman was gone. Plus, both the bucket and mop that had been sitting by the woman's feet before had vanished. Even the graffiti on the wall was nowhere to be seen.

Cheryl shook her head impatiently and carried on down the hall. She wasn't getting enough sleep, that was all. These dreams were messing up her sleep pattern.

Well, there was nothing she could do about that for now.

000

The large double doors swung open and two men entered the Church. One of them was small, fat and bald. The other was tall and slim with long, dark hair. Both were clad in dark, red robes. Morris watched from the altar as they walked up the aisle and then came to a halt before him.

"Do you have him?" Morris asked, scrutinizing the two men, though they were both wearing broad grins which told him that they had succeeded.

The taller man nodded, "Yes. Damon has him outside."

"Bring him in," Morris commanded, and both men left the Church, then returned minutes later with Damon. All three of the men were having to carry the prisoner, who was struggling hard against them. Both his hands and feet were bound and he had been gagged. Morris watched them as they approached, a smile playing on his lips. They had done exactly as he had asked. That was good.

"Here he is, sir," Damon said, sounding out of breath.

"Did you have any problems?" Morris inquired, glaring down at the prisoner, who had been forced onto his knees by Gareth, the smaller man.

Damon shook his head. "Nothing we couldn't handle. What would you like us to do with him now?"

Morris considered this. "Just take him through there," he ordered, jerking a thumb at the door to his right, "When Father Rowan arrives, I'll let you know."

The three men pulled the prisoner up to his feet, and were about to lead him over to the door, when the prisoner suddenly started trying to resist them. He began shrieking loudly and tried to shake them off.

Morris sighed impatiently, "Damon, deal with him please."

Damon nodded obideniently and hit the prisoner hard over the back of his head. Morris watched as the prisoner's cries subsided and he crumpled to the floor.

"If he tries anything else, you know what to do," Morris said, as the three men hoisted the unconscious prisoner up and carried him away. Then they were gone, and Morris was alone once again. He tapped his fingers impatiently against the alter. Father Rowan was hardly a punctual sort, but Morris had hoped that he would be on time today. He knew that Rowan was eager to see the prisoner.

Morris' prayers were answered when moments later the doors swung open again and in stepped Father Rowan. "Morris," the smaller man started wheezily, "I'm sorry I'm late. Did they-?"

"Yes," Morris interrupted loudly, "I'll go and tell them to bring him out."

Moments later, Damon, Gareth and Phillip were dragging the prisoner out. They set him down before Rowan, who studied the heap on the floor before frowning. "Good work. But why don't you have the girl yet?"

"We searched everywhere for her," Damon explained, seeming to cower before Rowan, "We think she already left Portland. Maybe she knew we were coming."

Rowan scowled, "How could she possibly know you were coming? Something's wrong here."

"I assure you, Father Rowan, we will find Alessa," Morris softly assured him, going to put a hand on his master's shoulder, but Rowan angrily shook him off and glowered at the other man.

"Don't you dare say that heretic's name in my presence," he spat angrily, turning to the other men. "You had better find her soon. I want her to pay for what she's done to us."

Damon nodded and he and the others quietly left the church. Rowan stared down Morris suspiciously and started to pace around. "So, Morris, you were the one who spoke with her. Do you have any idea of where she was going?"

"No, I'm sorry," Morris apologized, "but I will do everything I can.."

"Not good enough," Rowan snapped, "Honestly Morris, what's happened to you? You said you knew where the girl was, you said you talked to her. Sometimes I wonder whether your heart is truly in this, or.."

"I'll find her," Morris flared up, "Don't question my loyalties, Rowan."

"Is that any way to talk to your master?" Rowan said, and laughed cruelly, "We want this girl to suffer, and I'm sure you do, too. So why don't you go back out there and find the little witch."

It was taking all of Morris' self control to prevent himself from striking the other man. Rowan was his master, that was true, but that didn't mean that Morris liked him. He respected him, of course, respected his choices and decisions, but something about Rowan had always chilled Morris to the bone. However, he wasn't going to dwell on any of that. He had work to do; he had to find the girl, and fast. He knew very well that Rowan was not a patient man.


	8. Chapter Seven: Damon Laments

AN: Hey ya'll, sorry for the lack of updates recently. I have been thinking for ideas for this story and I finally had some, so here is the next chapter. I also changed the chapter, to something I thought sounded better. Anyway, that's all from me for now.

- - -

Damon Harris was sitting in the lounge that belonged to his friend and collegue, Gareth Hayes, contemplating what they were going to do next. Alessa had already left Portland, and this was not good news. Damon wasn't a stupid man; he knew that if he failed to turn up at the church with Alessa then Father Rowan would have his head on a platter. Damon really did despise Rowan sometimes. Just the sound of the older man's brittle voice made Damon angry. No, not angry. Furious was a better word. However he still respected the other man, he had to: Rowan was their leader, and Damon would not disobey him.

Ever since Rowan had taken charge of the Order some years ago, things had changed drastically. Damon had felt, and still felt, that Rowan was not the right man to lead them. He was constantly making bad decisions that would affect all of them. Damon had often considered speaking to Rowan about it, but had then decided against it. He didn't want to admit it, but he was afraid of the other man. Rowan just had that look about him, like if you didn't do as he asked, it was your funeral. So, Damon always held it in and never spoke about his feelings to anyone, even Gareth. Still, he was worried for all of them, for the Order. He didn't want to see it go down in flames just because of Rowan's stupid mistakes.

It was funny, really. Damon had once had a wife, a family. His beautiful young wife, Janine, and two young children, Rebecca and Harlow, had been killed days after he'd become a member of the Order. That had been around ten years ago. For some reason, Damon didn't miss them. He'd always pondered whether he was meant for something better, something bigger than just being a husband and father and working the same old job every day of his life. Then, he'd been chosen by Morris to join them. Damon had been thrilled at the prospect of joining the cult, and when he accepted, his family had mysteriously vanished when he'd arrived home to tell them of the news. He saw his wife for one last time the next day, when she appeared to him, begging him not to leave. Then, she had vanished along with the children. He'd never seen them again, and was convinced that someone from the Order had dealt with them. Sure enough, when he met with Father Morris for the second time a few days later, there was something ominous in the other man's eyes that told Damon what he had wanted to know.

For some time, Damon mourned his family but tried not to show it infront of the others. He'd known what they'd thought of him, had heard them discussing him many times when they'd thought that he hadn't been listening. Yes, so maybe he had come across as quite a strange young man. His quirky appearance hadn't exactly done him any favours, either. With his long, lanky dark hair pale features, he was constantly the object of their mockery. At first this hadn't bothered Damon in the slightest. He'd had too many other thoughts on his mind to think about them. Then, they had began to confront him, asking strange questions that made no sense whatsoever. This soon began to cause discomfort for Damon, and it was then that he began to seek out ways to show them that they were all wrong about him, that they had always been wrong. Four days later, three of those men were found murdered in the dormitory Damon had shared with them. He hadn't meant to do it, but he'd been angry. He was still angry. He couldn't control it. When someone said something to him, he.. he..

_I'd rip his fucking balls off and stuff them down his throat._

_No, I don't mean it.. please.. I don't want to be like this.._

After the incident (the case remained unsolved; nobody could work out what had happened to the poor boys) Father Morris requested that Damon come and see him. Damon obliged, for he liked Morris, who had made him a member of the cult in the first place. He and Morris had talked for hours, and then the other man had said that he, Damon, had 'great potential' and 'the chance to do something amazing'.

And so the years passed, one by one. All that time, Damon remained loyal to Morris, and to the cult. Then one day, Damon received word from Morris that Dahlia Gillespie, their leader, had passed away. Damon had been angry upon hearing the news, wondering what could have happened. He'd known Dahlia and had liked her a lot. He'd first met her around a year after becoming a member of the Order. She'd been just about the strongest, most dedicated woman he'd ever met in his entire life. So, what had happened to cause her untimely demise? And who would take over as leader, now that she was gone?

The answer came in the form of Father Rowan, who arrived a week and a half after Dahlia's death, and Damon finally got to know of what had happened to her. Apparently, 'Alessa' had been responsible for Dahlia's death. When Damon asked Morris who Alessa was, Morris just gave him a sidelong look and never answered the question. Damon would later find out, however, that Alessa was Dahlia's daughter, and that she had been killed in a fire at the age of seven. They'd neglected to tell Damon, however, that Alessa hadn't really died, but had been hidden away by the Order. For what reason? Damon never found out. At the time he'd guessed that he wasn't high up enough to know about what had really happened and all the facts regarding Alessa and her mother's death. Still, Damon had decided to direct all of his hate towards Alessa, since he figured she was the reason that the Order had been going downhill lately. They'd already turned him, made him cold, so he couldn't disobey them. He'd do whatever they asked and never ask questions. He was loyal and would always be loyal to them, no matter what. And right now, what he wanted to do, what he needed to do, was find that witch, and take her to Rowan. Then, the Order would make sure they disposed of her correctly. And then it would finally be over. They might have lost, but revenge was sweet, wasn't it?

Yes, Alessa was going to get what she had coming to her. Damon would make sure of that.

The sound of clanging china suddenly interrupted Damon from his thoughts. He looked up to see Gareth walking in, carrying a tray with small two teacups and a large pot of tea. Damon grinned. Gareth was known for his hospitality, maybe that was why he always had so many visitors. "What is it?" Gareth asked as he sat down in the old armchair opposite Damon.

"What do you mean, 'what is it'?" Damon asked impatiently, pouring himself some tea as he spoke.

"You just seem distant, is all," Gareth commented, "We're leaving tomorrow morning, you realize?"

Damon nodded grimly, "I know," he replied flatly.

"So, do you think we'll ever find out? Because if not, you know—"

"If we have to search the entire country, we'll find her!" Damon hissed loudly, glaring back at the other man, whose eyes widened.

"I'm sorry, Damon," he said quietly, "I didn't mean.."

"Shut up," Damon snapped, "Just shut up, Gareth."

There was a very awkward pause, in which Gareth sat, twiddling his thumbs, obviously wondering what to say next, and also wondering whether it would cause Damon to snap again. Damon just snorted to himself, silently amused by the fear showing in his friend's eyes. "Where is Phillip?" he asked finally.

"Father Rowan wanted to see him," Gareth said, voice trembling, "It sounded quite important. What do you think it could be about?"

"I don't know, Gareth, I don't know," Damon grumbled, and Gareth fell silent once again. Neither of them spoke for a long time after that, and Damon thought back to Gareth's words, and wondered whether they would really manage to track down Alessa afterall.


End file.
